


White Blood

by Teroe



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:25:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teroe/pseuds/Teroe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something in a look - in the glances she throws away - and for the life of her she can't seem to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	White Blood

She bleeds just like everyone else – has the scars to prove it, and yet the reverence she inspires is always more than a little unnerving. She remembers Anya, what working under her as her second meant and it’s through those memories that she can perhaps understand it a little. It is after the news of Anya’s death that Lexa learns there is no higher to rise. All she can do is look down.

That is not to say that she thought of those under her rule to be beneath her. They were her responsibility, their safety in her keeping, and as Commander there is no greater honor than protecting her people. She takes it with pride, puts the souls on her back and shoulders the weight because this is what she was made for, what Anya had prepared her for, and it is only in this persistent, precise execution that she could offer repayment to the dead.

Costia was the first, had looked her in the eyes and in that moment Lexa knew. There was no down, simply this mutual understanding that had her reeling. It was utter elation scattered between the normalcy she had grown used to. A burden she could share. But it was that train of thought that brought the first blow, and it chops her down to size.

Costia bleeds, too. Bleeds dry, and it’s the image of her lover’s head on a platter that keeps her awake at night, this ghost of a feeling rolling underneath the tips of her fingers, and it’s almost like she did this herself. She might as well have.

It’s almost some form of torture that with Clarke it is much the same. Like she can feel it, this sudden emotion seeping from the walls she had built. Clarke looks forward – looks through – and it sets this fire loose. Slow and burning, and Lexa knows what it means, and she knows she doesn’t have the heart to let it happen again.

But she does. She lets it fester, and it grows like a virus around her mind – her heart – makes her mouth dry and thoughts run blank. As if she were still young and naïve, as if sneaking glances was something someone of her station did. But Lexa looks because she can, and no one has the gall to tell her no.

Clarke looks back. 

“You’re staring,” Clarke says, and their gazes catch as she looks up from the map spread out before them. The council room is empty, the low burning candles a tell tale that the strategy meeting is long over.

Lexa says nothing, but her eyes linger when Clarke returns her attention to the map with a roll of her eyes and an almost unnoticeable shake of her head. A light cacophony of scratches can be heard as Clarke drags her pencil across paper, making notes and last minute changes to the map. It’s a silence Lexa has grown much too accustomed to, and she stirs at the thought that perhaps the sentiment isn’t mutual.

“Would you like to stop?” she suggests after a moment, straightening from her slight recline in her chair beside Clarke.

Clarke’s lips purse in thought, and Lexa finds herself drawn to the action, sight darting down briefly only to drag back up to Clarke’s eyes. They’re blue, and it’s the fourth time today, Lexa notices, that she has made that observation. A reminder to herself, maybe. They’re blue like the sky from which she fell.

“Well if you’re not going to be helpful,” Clarke begins, but she stops herself before she has the chance to finish the obvious thought. She doesn’t bother taking it back however. There’s no need to when it’s true.

Lexa lets out a breath and licks her lips, jaw clenching, but she forces it lax after a moment. She leans forward, scooting her chair closer to the table and it grazes across the stone. Clarke watches her, head slightly cocked to the side, but she glances away when Lexa finally focuses on the map in front of them. There are lines drawn indicating encampments and their numbers, Clarke’s handwriting curving between charcoal forests and Mount Weather.

It’s after finally taking the time to soak everything in that Lexa realizes how close they are to the end. “Do you think we’re prepared for this?” she asks sincerely, chancing another look, and it’s no surprise to her when she can’t find it in herself to look away.

Clarke snorts, nose crinkling, and there’s a bite to her tone when she says, “Is that what you were thinking about?”

_No_ , is what she wants to say as her eyes trace the curve of Clarke’s jaw, the tangled blonde hair curling near her ears, and the slightly sallow look to her face Lexa knows from experience all too well. There’s something in her telling her to memorize this, to burn it in her mind, her skin, because things like this don’t last. Not out here.

At least _not yet_ , and it’s Clarke’s voice that echoes through her head and not her own – has her licking her lips again, her heart a mess in her chest. 

“Clarke.” She says it softly, forming her tongue gently around the word, but blue settles on her within seconds, soft and tired and looking right through her. “You should get some rest. We have a big day ahead of us and we need to be at our best.”

Clarke’s brow creases, no doubt thinking about arguing for a few more minutes to make sure things are set and ready to go for tomorrow. For some reason though, Clarke decides against it and nods, standing from her chair. “Alright.” She rolls up the map, fingers smudged black from working and when she goes to wipe her forehead some gets left behind.

It takes all of her not to reach up and brush it away. “Good night, Clarke.”

Clarke’s lips quirk into a small smile, lopsided and a little weary, and Lexa hopes _not yet_ is worth waiting for.


End file.
